The Ban
by Angela Jade
Summary: Word of fanfiction.net's ban on NC-17 fanfic reaches the ears of those that may be most affected. Humor!


"The Ban" 

  
by Angela Jade 

A response to the ban on NC-17 fanfic on fanfiction.net. 

email - angela@yavin4.free-online.co.uk 

website - www.geocities.com/angelajade/index.html 

Rated PG-13 for language and innuendo. This means that if you don't like adult language or implied adult situations, or if you're under the age of 13, then DON'T READ THIS FIC. Just thought I'd make that clear for those of you that don't seem to understand the concept of ratings. ;-) 

Disclaimer - all characters belong to their respective owners. I own nothing, and I'm not making any money from this.   
  
  


The door slammed open, crushing the unfortunate patron behind it and allowing the first glare of sunlight in days to stream inside. Several of the bar's occupants winced and one spontaneously combusted in a cloud of vampiric dust. "Shut the bloody door, you pillock," shouted the bartender. His second head nodded in frantic agreement. "And, like, don't open it again." 

"Too late, Zaphod." Jack O'Neal waved his whiskey in the vague direction of the small, conical heap of ash on the barstool next to him. "There goes another one." 

"Shit, shit, shit." The erstwhile captain of the starship _Heart of Gold_ scrabbled under the counter for a moment, then reappeared with a dustpan and brush. "That's two in one week. Spike's going to fucking kill me." 

Jack raised an eyebrow as he watched Zaphod lean over to scoop up the ex-demon. "Will he notice?" 

"That," said Zaphod, waving the pan of ash a little too enthusiastically, "was Spike's latest boyfriend. Believe me, he'll notice." 

"Oh." A crashing noise behind Jack indicated the newcomer had reached the foot of the stairs. "Hey, Mulder. What's up?" 

"What's up?" Struggling to his feet, Fox Mulder brushed at his dust-covered suit with one grubby hand. "What's up? It's a conspiracy, that's what's up!" 

Zaphod rolled all four eyes, almost simultaneously. "Don't tell me you've got Scully pregnant again." 

"No, no, no." A pause. "No!" He slapped a hand down on the stool next to Jack, sending up a cloud of familiar-looking ash. "It's fanfiction dot net. They've banned NC-17 fic." 

There was a sudden, deadly silence. Every occupant of the bar stopped drinking and talking; Captain Kirk stopped breathing, turned blue, and fell off his chair. Mulder suddenly found himself the center of a rapt attention. His gaze swept slowly around the room, treating everyone to his most serious expression. "It's true." 

A figure slipped down off his stool at the far end of the bar and stalked towards Mulder, his face a mask of anger. "They can't do that." 

"They can, and they have." Mulder took a step backwards. "Could you put the blades away, Wolverine? Don't kill the messenger..." 

A gloved hand landed gently on the hirsute hero's shoulder. "Remember that talk we had, Wolfie? No disemboweling in public." 

A metallic 'shring' echoed around the room and Mulder relaxed a little. "Thanks, Rogue." 

"You're welcome." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "This better not be another of your practical jokes." 

Mulder shook his head emphatically. "I just found out. By theTwelfth of October they'll all be gone." 

"Why?" 

"Apparently people are complaining. Something about adult stories in children's genres, or something." 

"That'll be my lot, I suppose." Snape didn't even look up from his drink, his black hair hanging over his face as he stared morosely at the tabletop. "Evil little buggers." 

Satine turned to face him. "But... they're children..." 

"I was referring to the staff." 

Curt Wild stretched out a leather-clad leg and gave Snape's chair a swift kick. "Maybe it's not the Hogwarts crowd. I know who I'd put up as chief bloody suspect." 

All heads turned to the darkest corner of the bar, where a small yellow creature sat with his half-empty pint in a puddle of beer. Decorated with three paper parasols, a cherry on a stick, and a large bendy straw, the glass was almost as tall as he was. He lifted his head when he sensed that everyone was looking at him. "Pika-choooooooo...?" His eyes slowly crossed as he toppled forward into the puddle with a tiny splash. 

"I knew I shouldn't have given him that last one." Zaphod slapped a hand over his eyes. "Will somebody move the little sot before he drowns." The blunt end of a qualtablade flicked the inebriated pokemon onto his back with a damp squelch. "Thanks, D'Argo." 

"So, what are we going to do?" 

Zaphod frowned at Mulder and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't ask me. I'm just the hired help. Ford?" 

"Huh?" Ford Prefect stopped stuffing salted peanuts into his pockets and grinned guiltily. "What?" 

"What are we going to do?" 

"Not a lot we can do." He drained his pint and pulled his copy of the _Hitchhiker's Guide_ out of his pocket. "Except maybe change the entry for this place." 

"Change it to what?" 

"Closed." 

"Fuck," said Zaphod through clenched teeth. "There goes my job again. Trillian's gonna kill me." 

"You'll get another job," said Jack, somewhat unconvincingly. 

"Where?" Zaphod's arms waved around, seemingly of their own volition. "There aren't that many crossover sites left any more." One finger pointed accusingly at the SG-1 officer. "You'll bugger off to _Heliopolis_. The 'Scapers have got half a dozen sites they can go screw in. And as for the Star Wars gang..." he jerked a thumb towards the huge table in the corner where Princess Leia was chatting up Rogue Squadron, "...their sites take up half the net." He slumped suddenly, somehow balancing two heads on three hands. "Nowhere has as many writers, as many genres, or as much freedom. There's nowhere like eff-eff-dot-net." 

A lone voice cut into the atmosphere of gloom that had settled over the room like a wet blanket. "We could always stop doing the NC-17 stuff. Y'know, no cursing, no violence, no sex..." 

Frodo's words were drowned out by the deafening laughter that met his suggestion. Even Teal'c had cracked a smile; across from him, Jean-Luc Picard had stolen Gandalf's hat and was weeping hysterically into it. 

Anakin Skywalker slapped the poor Hobbit on the back so hard that he fell off his stool. "Oh, very funny, Frodo. You'll be saying we should only let the pro-writers near us, next." 

"Well..." 

"Don't even think about it, Shorty." A puzzled look settled across Anakin's face. "Where's Obi-Wan? He'll know what to do." 

Zaphod shrugged. "Hospital." 

"Again?" 

"What can I say?" A helpless grin. "He apparently has a face that says torture me then screw me silly. Poor bastard." 

Several patrons shuddered in sympathy. 

"So, are we going to just sit here and take this?" asked Mulder, his knuckles white as he gripped his flashlight. He jumped when a large Peacekeeper rifle slammed down on the bar next to him. 

Aeryn Sun smiled predatorily. "I'm sure I can persuade them to change their minds." 

"You and whose army?" 

A hand slid around her waist and another weapon joined hers on the counter. "Have you met John Crichton?" 

"I'm not sure the two of you..." 

"Count me in," interrupted Jack, downing the last of his whiskey. "Not a lot else to do around here." 

"Me, too." This from Han Solo, his arm wrapped around Princess Leia. "Chewie?" 

"Gronk?" 

"You up for a furball, Furball?" 

"Rowrr!" Chewie nodded enthusiastically and slapped his bowcaster against his hand. 

One by one, the rest of the bar's customers joined in; some wielding weapons, a few wielding wands, and Curt flicked a glittery scarf with a vicious-sounding snap. Even Frodo Baggins, after a little persuasion from Legolas and a particularly pointy arrow, agreed to join the makeshift army. 

"Cool!" said Mulder, waving his flashlight about and making 'voom-voom' noises. "Let's take 'em down!" 

Angel smacked him over the back of the head. "What, you think you're some kind of Jedi?" 

"Ah, what the hell." Zaphod opened the register and began filling his pockets with a variety of currency notes. "We can pick up Obi on the way. He wouldn't want to miss out on the fun." 

The would-be mob quickly left by the back door, and dust and silence descended upon the empty bar-room. 

Almost empty. 

A pair of eyes flicked open. Deep inside a tiny brain, righteous anger was making itself felt. The owner of the brain growled savagely. 

A bolt of lightening earthed itself on a nearby chair. 

"PIKACHU!"   


~THE END?~ 


End file.
